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“Essie, looking good,” Flip says.
She gives him the bird. “Don’t say things like that to me unless you want me to projectile vomit all over your expensive shoes, Flip.”
He frowns. “I just said you look good.”
“Yeah, but your tone was all bow-chica-wow-wow, and that’s a no all the way around.” Essie turns to me. “You ready to roll?”
“Where are you going anyway?” Flip asks.
“Out with Hemi and the girls,” I reply.
“Weren’t you together last night?” Tristan asks.
“Last night we had dinner because Tally is underage,” I explain as I slide off the stool.
Tristan’s eyes pop when he catches the full effect of my outfit. “You’re going to a bar dressed like that? What bar?”
I pretend I can’t remember the name. “Some place downtown.” I check my phone. “The Uber arrives in three minutes. We should head down.” I smile brightly. “You guys have a good night. Don’t wait up.”
Essie says nothing until we’re in the elevator. “Based on the way Tristan couldn’t take his eyes off you, there’s an eleven million percent chance that they’ll end up at the bar with us.”
“Probably, yeah.”
Three hours and many text messages later, Flip, Tristan, Dallas, and a bunch of other guys from the team are sitting at a table reserved for people with deep pockets. Hollis and Roman opted out because the club scene is not their jam, and Hammer didn’t want her dad to hover like a bodyguard.
Essie, Hemi, Hammer, and I are shaking it on the dance floor.
“Tristan has zero chill,” Essie says as we move to the beat. One of her hands is on my hip and my forearms are resting on her shoulders, like we’re slow dancing. I glance at the table. He’s frowning in our direction. Flip gets up to dance with some woman. Dallas keeps trying to engage Tristan in conversation, but eventually, he gives up and turns to one of his other teammates.
We spend most of the night dancing, and Tristan spends most of it watching us. He doesn’t look particularly impressed. At some point, Flip goes home with a woman, and when my feet feel like they’re about to fall off, we hit an all-night diner. Tristan goes back to the condo. I fully expect him to be asleep when we get there, so I’m surprised when I open the bathroom door after Essie and I finish brushing our teeth and he’s standing on the other side. His button-down is open at the collar, and the sleeves are rolled up. The forearm porn is delightful.
“Essie, I need fifteen minutes alone with Bea, please,” Tristan grinds out.
“Cool, yup.” Essie moves around him and rushes for the loft.
Tristan steps into the bathroom and closes the door, flipping the lock. “This fucking dress.” His gaze rakes over me, and his nostrils flare.
I cross my arms. “I look good.”
Tristan pokes at his cheek with his tongue and shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”
“Well, fuck y?—”
“Good doesn’t begin to describe how you look tonight. You are fucking sinful.” He takes a step forward, and I take one back, bumping into the vanity. “I couldn’t leave the table all goddamn night because of the constant hard-on.”
“That must have been frustrating.” I grip the edge of the vanity.
“I thought my head was going to explode with the way you and Essie were all over each other. I assume that was intentional.” He plants a fist on either side of me and his knee presses against mine.
“Maybe a little.”
“I wanted it to be me out there with you.” He drags his tongue across his bottom lip. “Please don’t make me wait until Essie goes home.”
I part my legs. Between one blink and the next, Tristan seals his mouth over mine and lifts me onto the vanity. I expect him to tear my clothes off, but instead he cups my face in his palms and slows the kiss. Our tongues tangle and his hands roam, easing down the side of my neck. His lips follow, and he nuzzles in. He wraps his arms around me as he fits himself between my thighs and lets out a plaintive sigh.
“I hate not being able to touch you,” he mumbles.
“I’m here now.” I run my fingers through his hair, surprised by the affection.
“I don’t want to need you.” His lips move along the edge of my jaw. “But I do.”
This time when he kisses me, it’s not soft; it’s desperate, frantic even.
He starts rocking his hips. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, palming my breast, squeezing my ass. He shoves my dress up to my waist and yanks my panties down, then drops to his knees. He pulls me to the edge of the vanity and rubs his face all over my pussy, like a cat marking its territory. He groans as he licks up my center and latches onto my clit. I grab a fistful of hair and clap my other hand over my mouth to stifle my moan. In less than a minute, I’m on the verge of an orgasm.
